Circle Series 4-in-1

by Ted Dekker

  “Then maybe Tanis and my father can help you find your village. He’s waiting for you.”

  “Your father? With Rachelle?”

  The boy grinned very wide. “You want to see Rachelle?”

  “Uh, no, not necessarily. I just wondered if—”

  “Well, I think she wants to see you. I think that’s what my father wants to talk to you about. Yes, I do. And it’s very exciting! Don’t you think?”

  “I . . .” Was he understanding this right? The whole village knew? “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  Johan beamed. “They said that you hit your head and lost your memory. Is that fun?”

  “Not especially.”

  “But if you come with me, you will have fun. Come on! They’re waiting.” He ran off through the door.

  Thomas followed. His memory was still lost, even after a good sleep.

  He stepped outside and allowed his eyes to adjust to the light. Everywhere, small groups of people busied themselves. He stared at a group of women to his right who sat on the ground working with leaves and flowers— they seemed to be making tunics. Some were quite thin, others fairly plump, their skin tone varied from dark to light. All watched him with knowing glints in their emerald eyes.

  He turned to his left, where two men massaged a piece of red wood with their bare hands. Beside them a woman manned a fruit stand, ten or fifteen wood boxes filled with different fruits. Several others bordered the path farther down. A low note rang through Thomas’s ears, singing from a source he couldn’t place. All of this he took in immediately, searching his memory for any recognition. His memory failed him completely.

  Johan took his hand. “These are my friends,” he said, pointing to two children who stared wide-eyed at Thomas from the lawn. “This is Ishmael and Latfta. They are singers like me.”

  They both had blond hair and green eyes; both stood a tad taller than Johan. “Hello, Thomas.”

  “Hello, Ishmael and Laffta.”

  The one on the left lifted a hand to his mouth and giggled. “Latfta!” he blurted out. “My name is Latfta!”

  “Oh, sorry. Latfta?”

  “Yes. Latfta.”

  Thomas braved another look at the women. One of them, a plump woman with beautiful eyes and long lashes, began to giggle. A glance across the path betrayed her.

  There, under the eaves of a house twenty feet away, leaning against the amber wall with arms crossed and head tilted, stood Rachelle. Bare feet. Simple blue dress. Tousled hair. Brilliant green eyes. Tempting smile.

  She was stunning, and she was suddenly walking toward him. For an incredible moment the motion around Thomas seemed to cease. Only her dress, flowing mid-thigh, and her hair swirling in her own breeze, and those emerald eyes swallowing him.

  Rachelle winked.

  His heart nearly ceased. Surely the whole village had seen it. Every eye was undoubtedly fixed on her seductive approach. This incredible display of . . .

  Rachelle suddenly diverted her eyes, flattened her mouth, and veered to her right. She walked right past him and then past the other women without a single word. And if he wasn’t mistaken, she had squared off her shoulders. A man chuckled. Thomas felt his face flush.

  “What did I tell you?” Johan whispered.

  He and his little friend pulled Thomas out onto the path. He followed, avoiding eye contact with anyone, looking instead directly ahead as if he were going somewhere important, stealing glances to take in the village. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, but he wasn’t about to reveal his ignorance of the matter.

  There was no evil on this side of the black forest, Michal had told him. So then Rachelle couldn’t dislike him, right? Wasn’t dislike a form of evil? Yet a deity—such as his father’s God in the histories—could dislike without being evil. So surely his creation could dislike without being evil. They would dislike evil. But would they love one person over another? Would they choose one man or woman over another? Evidently.

  Johan stopped within twenty paces. “Marla! Good morning, Marla!”

  A mature woman stepped into the path and ruffled Johan’s hair. “Elyon is smiling, Johan. Like the sun in the sky, he’s smiling over you.” Her eyes darted over Thomas. “Is this the stranger?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you must be Thomas Hunter. Most welcome to this side.” She touched his cheek and studied him for a moment. “I am the daughter of Tanis. I would say that your mother came from my brother Theo’s line. Yes, the same cheeks, the same eyes, the same mouth.” She lowered her hand. “My brother always was a handsome one. Welcome.”

  “Thank you. So you think my father’s name is Theo?”

  She laughed. “Not likely. But a descendant, more than likely. You don’t remember?”

  “I . . . no, I hit my head.”

  “Did you, now? How interesting. Take care of him, Johan.”

  “Tanis and Palus are waiting for him,” Johan said.

  “Tanis, of course. Perhaps the four of you could mount my father’s famous expedition.” She smiled and winked.

  They passed by a woodworker who was shaping a piece of red wood. Thomas paused to watch the man work. The wood moved under the crafter’s massaging fingers. He shifted for a better perspective and watched carefully. There could be little doubt about what he saw. The wood was actually moving under the woodworker’s bare hands, as if he were successfully coaxing it to reshape itself.

  “What’s he doing?” Thomas whispered.

  “He’s making a ladle. Maybe a gift for someone. You don’t remember?”

  “That’s incredible. No, I guess I don’t.”

  Johan talked excitedly to Ishmael and Latfta. “You see? He doesn’t remember. He’s going to love the storytellers!” Then to Thomas. “Tanis is a storyteller.” Johan pulled a small piece of red wood formed to look like a miniature lion from his pocket and handed it to Thomas. “Keep this,” he said. “Maybe it will help you remember.” Johan and Latfta grabbed his hands once again and pulled him along like a prized trophy.

  They found Johan’s father, Palus, talking to a man beyond the brilliant topaz arch that led into the village. The stranger’s moccasins were strapped tight, and a dark brown tunic, made from something like leather that came from one of the trees, Michal had informed him yesterday, hung above his knees. His eyes were green, of course, set into a strong tanned face that looked not a day older than thirty. The man’s legs were lean and well muscled. He looked born to run through the forest. A warrior by all appearances.

  This must be Tanis. Firstborn. The oldest man on Earth.

  “Ah, my dear young man, good morning to you,” Tanis said. “So very, very glad that you’ve come into our village.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Thomas said. He scanned the forest at the crest of the hill beyond. “Have you seen Michal?”

  “Michal? No. Have you seen Michal, Palus?”

  “No, I haven’t. I’m sure he’ll be along.”

  Tanis looked at Thomas, left eyebrow raised. “Well, there you have it then. Michal will be along.”

  “He was going to find my village for me,” Thomas said.

  “Oh, yes, I’m sure he will. But I think it will take him some time. In the meantime, we have some wonderful ideas.”

  “Maybe I should try to help him. Won’t my family be worried?”

  “No, no, certainly not. You really have lost all of your memory, haven’t you? What a thing, to experience everything as if it were the first time. It must be both exhausting and quite stimulating.”

  “Wouldn’t my village worry about me?” Thomas asked.

  “Worry? Never! They will assume you are with Elyon, as you most definitely are. Do you think he hasn’t allowed this?”

  They all stared at Thomas, waiting for an answer. Silence lingered.

  “Of course he has,” Thomas said.

  “There you go, then! Come, let us talk.” Tanis led him up the hill. Palus walked abreast, followed by the three children. Ov
erhead, several Roush winged through the air.

  “Now, I would like to know a few things before we begin,” Tanis said. “I would like to know if you’ve forgotten the Great Romance.”

  “Before we begin what?”

  “Before we begin to help you.”

  “With what?”

  “With the Great Romance, of course.”

  There it was. He couldn’t escape this romance of theirs.

  Tanis exchanged glances first with Palus, and then with the children. “So then you do forget. Wonderful!” He walked in a tight circle, thinking. Raised a hand. “Not wonderful that you’ve forgotten, mind you. Wonderful that you have so much to discover. As a storyteller, I must say the prospects we have here are incredible! Like an unmarked wood. Like a pond without a single ripple. Like a—”

  “Well then, get on with it. Tell him!” Palus said.

  Tanis stopped, hand raised. He dipped his head.

  “Yes, of course. The Great Romance. Sit, sit, all of you.”

  The others quickly sat on the sloping grass, and Thomas eased down beside them. Tanis walked back and forth, tan tunic flowing.

  “The Great Romance,” Tanis announced, one digit in the air. He spun to the children. “Tell him what the Great Romance is, Johan.”

  Johan leaped to his feet. “It is the game of Elyon!” He dropped to his seat.

  “A game. Yes, it is a game, I suppose. As much as any story is a story. Exactly. Well, there you have it then. The game of Elyon. I’m going to assume, perhaps correctly, that you know nothing, Thomas. In either case, I want to tell you anyway. The Great Romance is the basis for all of the stories.”

  “You mean the histories?” Thomas asked.

  “Histories? No, I mean stories. The histories are fascinating, and I would love to talk to you about them. But the Great Romance is the root of our stories, stories that confront us with the eternal ideals. Love. Beauty. Hope. The greatest gifts. The very heart of Elyon. Do you understand?”

  “Um . . . actually it sounds a bit abstract.”

  “Ha! The opposite, Thomas! Do you know why we love beautiful flowers? Because we love beauty!”

  They all nodded. Thomas looked at them blankly.

  “The point is, we were created to love beauty. We love beauty because Elyon loves beauty. We love song because Elyon loves song. We love love because Elyon loves love. And we love to be loved because Elyon loves to be loved. In all these ways we are like Elyon. In one way or another, everything we do is tied to this unfolding story of love between us and Elyon.”

  Thomas nodded, more because the response seemed appropriate than because he understood.

  Tanis nodded with him. “Elyon’s love for us and ours for him, the Great Romance, you see, is first.” One index finger in the air. “And sec-ond”— his other index finger in the air—“that same love expressed between us.” He paused, raised both fingers above his head like goalposts, and announced emphatically, “Between man and woman!”

  Palus searched Thomas’s face expectantly. “Do you remember? Surely you remember.”

  “Love. Yes, of course I remember love.”

  “Between a man and a woman,” Palus pressed.

  “Sure. Yes, between a man and a woman. Romance.”

  Tanis clapped once, loudly enough to pass for a thunderclap. “Exactly! Romance!”

  “Romance!” a voice cried behind them. Three Roush led by none other than Gabil drifted in for a landing. The other two quickly introduced themselves as Nublim and Serentus. When Thomas asked if the names were male or female, Gabil laughed. “No, Roush are not like that. No romance, not like that at all.”

  “Unfortunately, not like that at all,” Nublim said.

  “Do you want to play?” Johan asked Gabil, jumping to his feet.

  “Of course!”

  As if on cue, all three children ran after the Roush, sending them hooting in flight down the hill.

  The two village elders immediately put their arms around Thomas’s shoulders and turned him uphill.

  “Now the question, my dear friend, is, of course”—Tanis looked across at Palus—“Rachelle.”

  It was all starting to make sense to Thomas, but the implications were surprising. So bold. So unabashed. The village leader, this firstborn, and Palus were actually trying to set him up with Rachelle!

  All he could manage was, “Rachelle.”

  Palus clapped again. “Exactly! You have it! My daughter, Rachelle! She’s chosen you!”

  “And that’s why we are here to help you,” Tanis said. “You’ve lost your memory, and we’re going to help you remember. Or at least learn again. We think—”

  “Perhaps I should say . . . ,” Palus began, hand uplifted.

  “Yes, of course, you should say it.”

  “We know there will be a wonderful romance between you and my daughter, Rachelle, but we realize you may not know how to proceed.”

  “Well . . .”

  “It’s perfect! I saw it in your eyes the moment we met yesterday.”

  “You saw what?”

  Tanis led him farther up the hill. “You find her beautiful, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “She must know this if you are to win her.”

  Thomas wanted to ask the one question begging a voice here. Namely, what if he didn’t want to win her? But he couldn’t bring himself to betray his promise to Michal to play along or dampen the enthusiasm of Rachelle’s father.

  “I could write your story,” Tanis continued. “A wonderful play of love and beauty, but then it would be mine, not yours. You must tell your own story. Or, in this case, live it. And to understand how love unfolds, you must understand how Elyon loves.”

  The sheer momentum of their zeal carried Thomas. He asked the question he knew Tanis was demanding he ask. “And how does Elyon love?”

  “Excellent question! He chooses.”

  “He chooses,” Palus repeated.

  “He pursues.”

  “He pursues,” said Rachelle’s father, fist clenched.

  “He rescues.”

  “He rescues.”

  “He woos.”

  “He woos.”

  “He protects.”

  It was like a Ping-Pong match.

  “He protects. Ha!”

  “He lavishes,” Tanis shouted.

  Palus stopped. “Is that one of them?”

  “Why not?”

  “I mean, is that normally placed with the others?”

  “It should be.”

  They looked at each other for a moment.

  “He lavishes,” cried Palus.

  “This, my dear Thomas, is what you should do to win Rachelle’s heart.”

  “Elyon does all this?”

  “Yes, of course. You’ve forgotten him as well?” This seemed to astound both of them.

  “No, not entirely. It’s coming back, you know.” He quickly diverted the discussion back to Rachelle. “Forgive my”—he tapped his head—“density here, but exactly what does a woman need rescuing from? There is no evil this side of the black forest. Right?”

  Again, they stared at each other.

  “My, my, it is strange, this memory loss of yours,” Tanis said. “It’s a game, man! A play! Something to take pleasure in. You give a flower to a maiden, why? Because she needs nourishment? No, because she wants it.”

  “What’s that got to do with rescuing? What would she need rescuing from?”

  “Because she wants to feel rescued, Thomas. And she wants to feel chosen. As much as you are desperate to be chosen. We all are. Elyon chooses us. He rescues us and protects us and woos us and, yes, lavishes love on us. This is the Great Romance. And this is how you will win Rachelle’s heart.”

  Thomas wasn’t sure he wanted to ask again, but honestly he still didn’t understand their concept of rescuing.

  “Tell him, Palus,” Tanis said. “I think maybe a story would be a good idea here. I could write it for you to read before you go into b
attle for this love.”

  “Battle?” Thomas said. “Now it’s a battle?”

  “Figuratively,” Palus said. “You know, you win a woman’s heart as you would win a battle. Not as if you were fighting the Shataiki in flesh and blood, of course, because we never do that.”

  “Not yet we don’t,” Tanis said. “But there may come a time. Very soon, even. We’ve been thinking of an expedition to teach those terrible bats a lesson or two.”

  Michal’s concern.

  “They are confined to the black forest,” Thomas said. “Why not just leave them there to rot?”

  “Because of what they have done!” Tanis cried. “They are evil, despicable creatures who need a lesson teaching, I’m telling you! We know from the histories what they are capable of. Do you think I’m content to just sit back and let them plot their way across the river? Then you don’t know me, Thomas Hunter. I have been working on a way to finish them for good!”

  There was no lack of passion in his diatribe. Even Palus seemed slightly taken aback. There was something amiss in his reasoning, but Thomas couldn’t put his finger on it.

  “Either way, we often pretend to fight with the same kind of passion and vigor we would in a real fight with the Shataiki,” Palus said. “Show him, Tanis. Just show him.”

  Tanis made a stance similar to those of the martial arts from Thomas’s dreams of the histories. “Okay then—”

  “You know martial arts?” Thomas asked.

  Tanis stood up. “That’s what they called it in the histories. You know the histories?”

  “Well, I’m dreaming of them. In my dreams I know the martial arts.”

  “You’re dreaming of the histories, but you forget everything here because you hit your head,” Palus said. “Now, that is something.”

  “That’s what Michal thinks.”

  “And Michal is very wise.” Tanis glanced around, as if checking for the white furry. “How much detail do you dream about? How much do you know?”

  “I don’t know what happens after the Raison Strain, but before then, I know quite a bit.”

  “You can tell me how Napoleon won his wars? What strategy he used?”

  Thomas tried to think. “No, I don’t know that I ever studied Napoleon. But I suppose I could find out. I could read a history book in my dreams.”